Chapter 27 #2
Every instinct I have collides at once. My omega side stirs immediately, yearning toward warmth and alpha comfort like it's a basic need. My rational mind screams warnings—don't. don't trust this. don't forget you've been hurt.
My heart pounds hard enough that it feels loud.
Jasper doesn't look at me. He keeps his gaze on the screen, posture perfectly still, arm offered but not reaching.
The choice is mine.
That's the problem.
If he took me, if he pulled me in, I'd have something to fight against. Something clear.
This is softer. This is worse.
Because part of me wants it. A big part.
I swallow, throat tight, and stare at the empty space beside him like it's a cliff edge.
My omega instincts whisper, warmth. safe. please.
My mind snaps back, you thought that before.
The seconds stretch out until they feel endless.
Then I move.
Only an inch at first.
I slide closer, slow enough that I can stop if I panic. My body remains tense, muscles ready to spring away. I keep my hands clenched tightly in my lap.
Jasper stays completely still.
No tightening. No claiming. No adjustment to pull me closer. Just presence.
I inch closer again.
My shoulder brushes his side lightly, and the contact sends a ripple through me—heat, awareness, a deep exhale. His warmth is immediate, steady.
I hesitate one last time.
Then, carefully, I tuck myself against his side.
Not fully. Not collapsed into him. Just leaning, enough that I can feel him anchoring me. Enough that the cold in my bones starts to ease.
Jasper's arm doesn't move. He doesn't wrap me up or tighten around me. He simply stays exactly as he is.
My body adjusts in small increments—my shoulder relaxing, my spine unclenching, my breath smoothing out.
The warmth envelops me, slow and sure.
And my omega instincts—quiet and suppressed most of the time—surface anyway, humming softly with relief. Not frantic. Not needy.
Just soothed.
For a brief moment, my head feels light.
Normal.
I stare at the screen, but I don't see it. All I can feel is Jasper's steady presence, the lack of pressure, the absence of demand.
He doesn't ask for anything.
He doesn't take.
He doesn't test how much I'll give.
He just sits there, letting me borrow warmth without making it transactional.
My eyelids grow heavy. My breathing deepens.
And for the first time in what feels like forever, my body believes—just for a moment—that comfort might not be a lie.
***
Later, I stop in the hallway without meaning to.
My foot catches on the edge of the runner, and for a split second I almost stumble forward. I steady myself against the wall, already turning to retreat.
Then I hear my name.
"...because of Vee."
Marie's voice cuts through the door, sharp and strained, and my body goes still. Every instinct I have flares at once—don't listen, don't stay.
I stay anyway.
"You promised to bond with me," Marie says, her words tumbling over one another, volume climbing. "And you haven't yet! You said you would. Jasper is waiting too. It isn't fair to either of us to have to wait because of her."
My stomach twists.
I press my shoulder lightly against the wall.
Ragon answers after a pause, his voice lower, steadier.
"I will bond with you, Marie. But it isn't the right time."
"That's not what you said before. You said you wouldn't make me wait forever."
"I said bonding requires stability. You need to learn patience."
There's a brittle laugh. "Patience? For what? For her to decide she's done playing fragile?"
My throat tightens.
"And empathy," Ragon adds, his voice sharpening just a fraction. "Which you are not showing right now."
The silence that follows is brief but loud.
"Empathy? Why should I have empathy for someone who doesn't even want to be here? She doesn't want the bond. She doesn't want the pack. She doesn't want you. Not anymore."
Each sentence feels like a small, precise cut.
I swallow hard, nails digging into my palm. A part of me wants to flee. Another part needs to know what he'll say next.
"Vee is not ready to bond yet," Ragon says, and something in his tone shifts. "And I won't upset the balance any more by bonding you before she's ready to bond as well."
The words echo in my chest.
Before she's ready.
As if readiness is a thing I'm choosing. As if fear is a decision I can just make differently.
"So I just have to wait," Marie says, tight and resentful. "Again."
"Yes. You do."
Another silence stretches out, longer this time.
"This isn't fair," she says finally, quieter but no less sharp. "You're choosing her. Over and over."
"I am choosing the pack. And that includes you both."
The door suddenly yanks open.
I barely have time to pull back before Marie storms out, nearly colliding with me. We stop inches apart.
Her eyes widen when she realizes I've heard it.
For a heartbeat, she just stares at me—anger, humiliation, and something like panic flickering across her face. I smell it then, sharp and bitter, her insecurity bleeding through.
Then her mouth twists.
She doesn't say anything.
She doesn't need to.
She brushes past me hard enough that her shoulder clips mine. Her footsteps pound down the hallway, and a moment later her bedroom door slams shut with a force that rattles the pictures on the wall.
The sound echoes through the house.
I stand there long after, heart racing, breath shallow. Because of Vee. Before she's ready.
I don't know how to feel.
Guilt curls tight in my chest—heavy and familiar. If I weren't here, if I weren't broken, if I weren't slowing everything down, none of this would be happening.
And beneath that guilt, something else stirs.
Relief.
The realization makes my stomach churn. Relief that he didn't say she was right. Relief that he didn't agree to send me away. Relief that, at least for now, he isn't willing to move forward without me.
I don't know what that means.
I don't know if it makes me safer—or puts a target on my back.
I step away from the office door quietly. I don't want him to know I heard.
I move down the hallway on unsteady legs.
Marie's door remains closed, the echo of it still lingering.
And somewhere behind me, Ragon is alone with a choice he's already made—one that seems to circle back to me no matter how hard I try to step out of its path.
***
The pounding drags me out of sleep like a hand around my throat.
Not a knock—pounding. Heavy, urgent, relentless. The sound hits my nervous system first, and my body reacts before I even understand what's happening. I jerk upright in my chair so hard the wooden legs scrape against the floor. My book slides off my lap.
For a second, I don't know where I am.
My room is dim. My neck aches from the angle I'd been sleeping at. My heart is already sprinting.
The pounding comes again, louder, more insistent.
My stomach drops.
I sit there frozen, every muscle tight with the certainty that something is wrong.
Then I hear movement—footsteps in the hall, quick and purposeful. Low voices. The house waking all at once.
I swing my feet to the floor, moving quietly on instinct. I tell myself to stay in my room.
But my body is already carrying me toward the doorway.
I crack the door open just enough to peer into the hall.
The house feels tense. The air holds that electric edge that comes before a fight.
Another pounding hits the door, and I flinch.
Eli's voice drifts from the entryway. "I've got it."
His footsteps are quick but controlled. He opens the door, and cool air spills into the house along with the scent of unfamiliar alphas.
My eyes widen.
There are several of them on the porch—men in formal suits, dark jackets and crisp collars. Their stances are too disciplined to be casual visitors. They stand like they belong to something official.
My pulse climbs higher.
And then my stomach drops through the floor.
Chase.
He stands among them, posture straight, expression neutral and professional in a way I've never seen him before. He doesn't look like the man at the gym who teased me.
This Chase is different.
This Chase is authority.
For a beat, I can't move.
The two versions of him collide in my mind. The gym version makes my chest tighten. The version standing on our porch is intimidating.
Because this version has power over my life. This version is pure alpha.
I take a small step back into the shadow of the hallway. Part of me wants to disappear. Part of me needs to see.
Eli's expression shifts as he looks between them. "Can I help you?"
Chase steps forward slightly, hands visible, voice even. "Good morning. I'm Investigator Chase Calder."
Investigator.
The word lands like a weight.
"We're here regarding the incident at the zoo," Chase continues, his gaze sweeping briefly into the house. I can feel it when his eyes find me in the hallway. He doesn't react outwardly. Just a brief, measuring look before his attention returns to Eli.
Ragon appears behind Eli, moving into the entryway with the unmistakable presence of an alpha who owns this space.
Then his gaze locks onto Chase.
Recognition tightens his features.
His scent sharpens, citrus-smoke turning edged.
"What are you doing in my house?" Ragon demands.
It's not loud.
It doesn't need to be.
Chase doesn't flinch. "Alpha Ragon Charles?"
Ragon's jaw flexes. "Yes."
Chase nods once. "Investigator Calder. I'm leading the inquiry into the zoo incident."
My throat tightens.
"And the report Jasper filed regarding Vee's punishment following."
The word punishment makes my stomach twist hard.
My hands curl into fists at my sides.
Ragon's head turns just slightly, his gaze flicking toward me. Our eyes meet. For a split second, the rigid alpha mask cracks and I see something raw underneath.
Concern.
Not for himself.
For me.
Ragon turns back to Chase, voice controlled. "This can be handled at the registry. Not here."
Chase shakes his head firmly. "We prefer to conduct these investigations in the homes of those involved."
Ragon's nostrils flare. "Why?"
"Because it reduces intimidation. The registry atmosphere tends to frighten omegas and we try to avoid that."
Ragon's posture stiffens. "My omegas are not—"
"Omegas are often intimidated by official surroundings," Chase interrupts smoothly.
"Especially when the environment has historically impacted their lives.
I've been through Verena's file top to bottom and I'm aware she has a long history with the registry.
I'm sure she'd prefer to avoid being forced back there for this. "
The words sound like a quiet accusation.
I feel heat creep up my neck.
Ragon's jaw tightens again. But he doesn't snap. He's too aware of what these men represent.
Eli shifts slightly, bracing for conflict while trying to stay calm.
"Then she doesn't have to come," Ragon says tightly. "I'm the one you want to consult with, not her."
Chase's eyes flick to me again.
This time, he holds my gaze.
"Omegas are allowed to be part of their own cases. They're people. Sometimes victims. They deserve a voice."
The room goes very still.
I feel like every breath I take is too loud.
A voice forms in my head—small, familiar, afraid.
Victim.
Is that what I am?
The word tastes wrong.
And yet—my body remembers the zoo. Remembers hands. Remembers being dragged, restrained, humiliated by the very alpha that was designated to protect me.
My stomach rolls.
Ragon's gaze cuts toward me again, as if he's checking whether I'm about to bolt.
I stay frozen.
I don't want to be in this.
I also don't want to be excluded from it.
Because if they review footage without me, they'll tell the story without my body in the room to contradict it.
Chase steps inside with measured permission. The other suited alphas follow.
The living room feels suddenly smaller.
Ragon moves ahead of them automatically, guiding them toward the center.
"Sit," Chase says to his team quietly.
Eli closes the front door behind them, the latch clicking with a finality that makes my chest tighten.
Ragon turns back to Chase. "We can discuss the report. But the footage—"
"We need everyone present. Everyone who was there. Everyone involved."
Ragon's gaze flickers toward the hallway, and I know he means me. He means Marie too. He means Jasper. He means all of them.
My feet finally move, slow and reluctant. I stop near the edge of the space, half behind the arm of the couch.
Chase watches me approach with calm focus. Not sympathetic. Not cruel. Just attentive.
He sets a tablet down on the coffee table. His hand hovers for a moment as if he's giving us one last chance to breathe.
Ragon stands behind the couch instead of sitting, posture rigid, arms crossed tight. Eli lingers near the doorway.
My mouth feels dry.
"We received the zoo footage this morning," Chase says, voice even.
"From the facility's security system. It took much longer than we'd have liked since there were issues surrounding the zoo's attorneys releasing it, but they finally sent it over.
Due to the contents of the footage, I decided to come directly here to discuss with you, Mr. Charles, how we are going to proceed forward with this case. "
My fingers curl into the fabric of my shirt.
Chase taps the screen.
The tablet flickers to life, bright in the dim room.
For one beat, it's just loading—a spinning icon, a faint glow.
Then an image resolves.
A wide-angle view of the zoo walkway.
The world tilts slightly in my head as the footage begins, and the room falls into tense, absolute silence—every breath held, every eye locked on the screen, waiting for the truth to play out in front of us.